Ruslan Bogdanovich Makarov's spoiled, twisted family is desperate to retain their power, but refuse to name him Tsesarevich, the crowned prince or heir apparent, because of his birth gender. Instead, they've welcomed Alexander Vissarionovich Sokolov...
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"Why couldn't he have just been ugly? A gnarled, wiry little troll?" Ruslan scoffed as he dragged his fingers along the walls of evergreen that towered over him and Darya. It was cool out, but not so much that they couldn't enjoy a walk through the maze-like garden. "You should've seen the way they looked at him, Darya, drooling over this sculpted stranger like he were their newly appointed god! Hail, the new Tsar of Gornayagavan!" Ruslan rolled his eyes.
Darya was quiet...
For a moment, he feared he may have been talking to himself, if she had parted from him down a different path without him noticing, but when he whirled around to look, she was right there, staring wide-eyed at him, caught in the act of tearing a sprig of greenery from the evergreens with her teeth...
Ruslan let out a sigh of relief while she gnawed on her prize. "...You would have spared me the indignity," Ruslan said, pushing his golden bangs out of his face while Darya wagged her little tale. "Mother couldn't bring herself to introduce me as her son...I had to sit there looking like a prince, with this distant cousin wondering what was wrong with me, because clearly there must be something wrong with me... Why else would he have been invited?"
Darya hopped sideways then trotted ahead of him, hopping a few times when the wind came whipping through the narrow path like a wind tunnel. She was such a precious, dear thing...
"Yes...you would've spared me, because at least you have a kind spirit, Darya..." Ruslan squatted down, bringing his chin near his knees.
The little black goat bounded over to him with a few leaves still caught in the corner of her mouth. He scooped her up into his arms, and she let out a sweet little bleat, wiggling her tail again as she let her legs go limp like a yarn doll.
Darya had always liked being carried. It was what had endeared Ruslan to her when she was a kid. She was playful and full of life, just like the other miniature goats, but she also loved to cuddle and be held. She soaked up his affection like a cloth does water, and Ruslan adored every bit of it. Days like this one were the most tender Ruslan ever truly got to be, and he cherished them for that.
"Still not worried about cousin Alexander?" Nikolai's sing-song tone wondered from somewhere behind Ruslan. Beside him was his hound, Kulic, a giant grey and white beast with a curved silhouette that was all legs and nose. Nikolai's prized pooch had been nothing but trouble since he'd acquired him, chasing anything he liked all around the castle grounds... And now his big black eyes seemed trained on Ruslan's hooved friend.
Ruslan gave a warning glance to the hound, but then his gaze traveled up from one hunter to the other. "No," he replied, clutching Darya closer to his chest. "Even if they like him, my mother is insufferable and he doesn't belong here. He'll be longing for his home soon enough..." Ruslan turned to fully face the pair now. "Have you already made fast friends? You're good at that..."
"Except when it comes to you," Nikolai observed before motioning to his hound. "Kulic, stay." The lanky creature folded down onto the ground to watch as his master approached Ruslan. "I admire your spirit, but what's the use in making enemies of the whole world?"
